


Of Artists and Assassins

by Bookend



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: asscreedkinkmeme, Drunken Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Ezio cannot cook, Kink Meme, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookend/pseuds/Bookend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the asscreed kinkmeme - requester wanted hot, rough sex and full of Ezio goodness to celebrate their birthday. Then I went and got plot all over the story instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Artists and Assassins

Original story can be found at the [asscreed kinkmeme](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=10990958#cmt10990958)

 

**Of Artists and Assassins**

 

Ezio moved smoothly through the crowd, merely one among the many, as it flowed along the streets of Venice in much the same manner as the water did through its numerous canals. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, warming the mid-April day, and cheered everyone around them to the point where he could have had his pick of any pocket. It had been a good day thus far – he and Antonio had gotten even closer to their goal of ridding Venice of Emilio Barbarigo's tyranny once and for all, and Ezio had even found several more names for the conspiracy against his family.

All in all, a perfectly good day, and he found that he did not even mind the poorly-talented bard dogging his steps for a few paces. The man had, perhaps, some tiny measure of talent above the usual lute-slapping rabble that were a mere step above the common beggar. But, much to the bard’s misfortune, Leonardo had a mere four days ago set out to test a newly constructed instrument while Ezio was devouring half of the artist’s loaf of bread, and the assassin had found that since then, nothing came anywhere close to the talent his friend had demonstrated then. 

Perhaps he should make a visit, and try to pull Leonardo out of the stuffy workshop - his last visit had been in the evening, and the artist had seemed almost surprise that it was far past the time for the light lunch he had been heading for, engrossed as he had been in his work the entire day. Sometimes, Ezio worried that his friend forgot to eat during one of those focused sessions, and had made it a point to poke his head in at least once weekly, with either a Codex page or a ‘broken’ wrist blade, or an actual injury from his many skirmishes with the guards - all to keep Leonardo from getting suspicious. Ezio had first hand witnessed the full wrath of a Leonardo who felt coddled. 

His feet knew the well-trodden path, and he did not even need to think as he wove his way through the crowd towards the plaza and its usually-busy workshop.  Usually busy was the key word, though, as the workshop currently sat quiet and dark, its shutters closed firmly and not even a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. Ezio had a momentary flicker of panic, remembering the horror he had felt in Firenze when he had been told that Leonardo had up and left without a word. 

“Leonardo?” he called in concern, forcing himself to go through the motions of knocking on the door twice. When no answer was forthcoming, he glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then jabbed his hidden blade between the door and frame, and shoved with his shoulder first. He, really, was getting far too used to consider locks a mere triviality... 

The sight within was startling. While there was always a considerable amount of organised chaos - with papers and books and sketches piled here and there where Leonardo had needed and thus made space to work on whatever had caught his fancy at the time, only to leave said work behind when struck by a new whim - seeing the place with near-clean tables was unsettling. 

The piles and stacks moved to the crammed shelves, threatening to vomit sketches all over the workshop if anyone dared to as much as think of removing a book. Models had been moved from their various locations - even the one that Ezio was willing to swear Leonardo only used as a hatrack - piled upon a mostly cleared worktable that was only partially covered in paint and doodles. 

“Leonardo?” he called again, stepping further in, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light seeping through the shutters. Finding the small stairway that led up to the artist’s personal chambers, feeling ever more dread with every step, he carefully crept along the walls. 

The bedroom was close to cozy in comparison with the workshop below, and Ezio breathed a sigh of relief, finding his oldest and definitely dearest friend half-slouched in an armchair. Though his relief turned to worry when he spotted the two empty wine bottles carelessly discarded on the floor, the neck of one smashed from where it had apparently been thrown against the wall, and the third - mostly empty by the looks of it - clutched in a paint-and-charcoal-stained hand. 

“Ezio?” Leonardo asked, voice slurring, looking up and spent a moment as if trying to focus, before a disturbingly artificial version of his usual smile showed itself, and the assassin received an exaggerated wave of an arm. “ _Buon giorno, mio amico_! Didn’t think I'd see you today.” The artist paused, drinking straight from the bottle - a sight almost as startling as seeing him drunk, as Ezio had always seen him use cups or glasses - and then wagged his fingers at the assassin. “Come on, then, hand it over.” 

Ezio frowned, worry now warring with confusion. “Hand over what?” 

“Codex page? Isn’t that why you’re here?” Leonardo replied, taking another swig from the bottle and scowled when he found it to be empty. “Fine,” he continued with a strangely annoyed noise. “Fine. Then your hidden blade, or whatever else you need repaired.” 

“I’m not here for repairs either?” 

Leonardo all but tossed the bottle to the floor with a dull thunk, and gave the assassin a wavering glare. “Then what do you want, Ezio? You don’t look injured, so what? Food? A bed?  _La mia casa è la tua_ , help yourself,” he added with a wide, generally encompassing gesture. 

Ezio did not know whether to be worried or ashamed that his friend apparently thought that he only showed up when he wanted something from the artist - not, of course, that his pathetic attempt to make excuses for visiting had helped. 

“ _Mi dispiace_ , Leonardo, but, honestly, I just wanted to visit you,” he said with his most charming smile, and earned himself a surprised glance from the inebriated engineer. 

“Oh. That’s... Thank you, Ezio,” he said, and some of the tension melted from his posture along with the wry, but earnest smile. The contrast, it struck the assassin, was like the difference between a candle and the sun itself. 

“So,  _mio amico_ ,” Ezio started, kneeling next to the chair, ever mindful of any glass shards hidden among the dark floorboards. “Why are you drinking in the middle of the day? And in a darkened workshop, no less, on such a _bellissima giornata_? You should be outside, sketching birds or flowers, or following people with funny noses about the city.” 

Leonardo grimaced in obvious distaste. “Not today,” he said, slumping further in his chair and very nearly threatened to slide from the seat. “I go out, and people come to me and ask for sketches or paintings or models, and none of them ever even bother to offer to pay. They just demand, like it doesn’t cost me time or materials or anything!” he growled, hands clenching in the air, before he sighed sadly and relaxed again. “Not today, Ezio... Today, I just want to stay in, _solí. In pace_.” 

“Leo _nar_ do,” Ezio said, starting to feel exasperated as well as confused and worried. Really, he was not used to holding so many conflicting emotions without having someone’s face to gouge out afterwards. “You’ve never before complained of people clamouring for your talent. In fact, I distinctly remember you complaining about going for a walk, and not having as much as a single fan accost you on the street.” 

With a snort, Leonardo crossed his arms and gave Ezio the scowl that was usually reserved for overly perfumed ladies and those who tried to look at his sketchbooks. Even in his currently considerably-far-from-sober state, it was enough to make the hardened assassin flinch. “It’s my birthday today,” he merely said. 

Ezio blinked, and then mentally kicked himself. Repeatedly. How many years had he known Leonardo by now? Far too many. Far, far too many to not have picked up at least what time of the year his friend had been born in - and his brain helpfully supplied the memory of when Leonardo and the thieves had surprised him with a party at the Palazzo della Seta just last year at  _his_ birthday in June. 

At a time where Ezio himself had forgotten all about it. 

Even Rosa had pointed out that surviving for a quarter of a century was nothing to scoff at, and, in her usual friendly manner, hugged him and affectionately called him her _cazzo di idiota_. 

“Well. _Buon compleanno_ , Leonardo,” Ezio said, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am, however, afraid I forgot you bring you a present.” 

“‘Sfine,” Leonardo mumbled, doing a fine impression of most-definitely-not-sulking. “ _Grazie_.” 

Ezio smiled warmly now, worry giving way entirely to amusement now that he had discovered the reason behind his friend’s uncharacteristic bout of self-pity and asociality. “Come here,” he said, standing up just enough that he could pull Leonardo into a hug. 

The artist grumbled incoherently under his breath, but, after a short moment, all but deflated and returned the embrace. Ezio stomped down a smirk of triumph, settling instead for keeping his arms around the other man - giving a final squeeze when Leonardo pulled back. And then they both paused; their proximity leaving their faces mere inches apart. 

Something strummed through the air between them in that moment. Intangible, and yet, something different. As close as they were, he felt as if he saw Leonardo in an entirely new light - he could see the tiny bead of sweat in the crease between brows. The tiny scar near the bridge of the nose. A grain of sleep within a wrinkle of the eye. A freckle on the eyelid when Leonardo blinked slowly, languidly, as caught up in the strange air between them as Ezio was. 

And then Leonardo leaned forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. 

It was much as he had expected, and nothing like what he had dreamt of. The taste of sour wine, the other lips dry and chapped as they moved against his. Far too little teeth and tongue for his tastes. Far too chaste and brief. 

Of course, Ezio had kissed men before. He had been a young man in Firenze, after all, and his mother  _had_ told him to find other outlets besides vaginas. He had found plenty more, once he came to Venice. Antonio. Ugo. That oh-so-flexible young man at Teodora’s, although Ezio never managed to un-distract himself long enough to get the youth’s name when he visited. 

They pulled apart again, and the heavy air hung over them, as if the entire world merely waited for their next move. By his side, Ezio’s hand twitched. Longing to grab onto golden tresses and pull the artist in for a proper snog. His mind already planning the progression from there. 

And then Leonardo destroyed the moment entirely by collapsing into a fit of giggles, and Ezio found himself heavily leaned on when the artist buried his face at a white-clothed robe, shoulders shaking with mirth. 

“I wanted to do that for six years, you know,” Leonardo quietly mused once his gigglefit had passed, and nuzzled against the assassin’s throat. 

“Really? That long?” Ezio murmured, absentmindedly stroked the other’s back, and tried not to pay too much attention to the soft breath caressing his skin. 

Leonardo made an affirmative noise with another, brief giggle. “I wanted to do that ever since you showed up at my door in those robes of yours. “Wanted to get you  _out_ of those, too, come to think of it...,” he replied, voice almost dreamy, before straightening and fixing the assassin with a wavering stare. “Have I mentioned that I am  _exquisitely_ drunk right now?” 

“You smell like a winery, my friend,” Ezio replied, and all but hauled them both from the floor. “Come on, Leonardo. We need to get you to bed.” 

“ _Ti amo_ ,” Leonardo warbled, voice muffled against the armour on Ezio’s shoulder - not seeming to care about any sharp metal edges - as he was half-walked, half-dragged the few steps across the chamber to the bed. “You’re the  _best_ friend I’ve ever had.” 

“And from what rumours I’ve heard, one of the few male, non-patron friends you haven’t slept with,” the assassin replied, guiding Leonardo to sit on the mattress, and added, as a form of explanation: “Antonio talks far too much after sex.” 

“Antonio, bah, he’s dull in bed,” Leonardo scoffed with a dismissive gesture, toppling back over readily enough when Ezio kneeled down and struggled to pull the knee-high boots off. 

The first came loose with a hiss of leather and cloth, and a groan from Leonardo. “Are you always this loud in bed?” Ezio asked, unable to help his own smirk as he started on the other boot, and got a protesting noise from the artist at the manhandling. 

“Oh, yes. My last lover thought I was too loud,” Leonardo happily chirped, more than drunk enough to have left any shred of shyness behind. “So he gagged me. Tied me to the bed, too, while he was at it, and had his way with me.” A happy, utterly unapologetic grin spread over his face. “It was _glorious_.” 

Ezio dropped the second boot and rose up to pluck the red, now lopsided, beret off his friend’s head when the artist sat up. “I take it your last lover wasn’t Antonio, then.” 

Leonardo wobbled slightly, trying to orient himself with the constantly-shifting room. “Oh, no. Not at all. It was this... lovely young man at  _La Rosa_.” He frowned. “Never got his name. Very flexible fellow. Tried to draw him, once, but I got too distracted.” 

“He has that effect on people,” Ezio agreed, coaxing Leonardo into lying down properly, tugging up the covers. “Get some sleep, Leonardo. Judging from your workshop, you’ve been drinking and cleaning up through half the night. You could use some rest.” 

“Not sleepy,” Leonardo huffed in reply, gave a great yawn that made his jaw creak, and was soundly snoring away less than two minutes later. 

The assassin shook his head to himself, tsking at the sight - though he could not quite hide his smile - and gently reached out to stroke the blonde locks. Leonardo, in turn, merely muttered in his sleep and rolled over, curling up much like the cats he was so fond of. 

“Your head won’t thank you tomorrow,” Ezio said with a chuckle, and began cleaning up the broken bottle - before Leonardo would wake up in a fit of inspiration and stomp around on bare feet in search of charcoal and parchment. 

Once he was certain that the bedroom was sufficiently inspiration-proofed, and that Leonardo was still sleeping the equivalent of having taken a brick to the head, the assassin snuck downstairs, pausing only momentarily to take in the still-surreal vision of the cleaned and cleared workshop. Sheer habit made him stoop slightly when he approached the kitchen, even though the wheeled device no longer hung from the ceiling, but had instead been resigned to a sad place in the corner. He gave Leonardo about a week before the workshop would be back to its normal, comfortably chaotic appearance - with sketches at every available surface, and forgotten cups of tea growing green on random shelves. 

At least, he found, the kitchen was still its old self - a feat made possible by Leonardo’s Florentine assistant, Vincenzo, who had quickly instituted a rule of not allowing any sketchbooks, canvas, paints, models, or anything else but foodstuffs and utensils for the preparation of the same in the kitchen. A rule that had somehow stuck with Leonardo after his move to Venice, even when Vincenzo had stayed behind. Of course there was no meat or fish in the larder, and while there were the ingredients for several other dishes, Ezio felt no urge to try his hand at making pasta or eggs. His family had always had maids, many of whom had felt a strange urge to spoil the  _fratelli Auditore_ , and it had resulted in Ezio being utterly unable to even boil water. There was a good reason that, apart from his close friends, the only people who did not have a panic attack at seeing _Il Assassino_ in person were the food vendors. So, bread, salad, and olives it was, and he felt no remorse in snatching some of Leonardo’s butter as well. 

Some people - Ezio himself included - would have called it a miracle that he managed to occupy himself for the remainder of the day, without pacing or growing restless with the quiet. Perhaps Rosa had been right and he was starting to get old, or he simply needed a break from the high-paced lifestyle of an assassin. But regardless of the reason, he quickly dove into Leonardo’s collection of books - finding tomes on everything from astrology to zoology - and realised later that more than an hour had been devoured by a book on greek legends. Another three were consumed by a book of creatures living in the far distant lands that took many months of travel to reach.

In the end, it was far past sunset when Ezio managed to pull his head out of the books and returned to Leonardo’s bedroom - finding the artist still soundly asleep, although he had rolled over to face the room and was now hugging the pillow in his sleep. Quietly, Ezio wished he had any shred of artistic talent, or some other way of capturing the adorable sight, and understood his friend’s obsession with sketching close to everything. 

“Leonardo,” he called, keeping his voice soft, and reached out to gently touch his friend’s shoulder. 

Slowed by sleep and the alcohol, and with that naturally open face, Ezio found that he could tell the precise thoughts that flickered through Leonardo’s mind as he pulled himself out of whatever deep sleep he had been in. Surprise at seeing Ezio there. A twinge of pain and regret when he recalled the heavy drinking. A flicker of sadness and loneliness when he remembered why. And a slow morph into complete and utter horror when he remembered the discussion they had had while Ezio had coaxed him into bed. 

And then, with the full spectrum of emotions and thoughts completed, Leonardo groaned, hid his face in his hands, and rolled over, pulling the sheets up over his head to form a protective cocoon. 

“Come on, Leonardo, get up,” Ezio said, poking the bundle with a grin that threatened to make his cheeks hurt if he kept it up much longer. 

“Go away, Ezio, and leave me to die of shame,” Leonardo groaned, voice muffled by wool and hemp. 

“Nonsense, no one has yet died of shame,” Ezio insisted, tugging at the top-most blanket. 

“Fine, then leave me to die from this  _postumi di sbornia_ ,” Leonardo acquiesced, and the bundled contracted slightly when the artist tried to curl into a ball.

“And that I know isn’t possible, either,” the assassin continued, settling a knee on the edge of the bed when he tugged harder, trying to wrench the blanket from an iron grip. “Leonardo. Sit up, at least. I have something that can help with your hangover.” 

Ezio could practically  _hear_ Leonardo consider that - could hear that brilliant mind weigh through the aspects for and against his next action - and was thoroughly pleased when the artist untangled himself from the covers and gingerly sat up. Bloodshot eyes, hair looking as if it would have made a fine nest for one of his favoured songbirds, and generally looking almost as pitiful as the puppy he had once convinced Ezio into helping him save from drowning in a canal. 

“Wine?” Leonardo said, looking in surprise at the cup he was handed. 

“ _Chiodo scaccia chiodo_ ,” the assassin replied with a knowing smile. “Trust me. It helps. That, and food, but I can only bring you the wine, I’m afraid.” 

The artist grimaced at the taste. “You couldn’t at least have used one of the  _decent_ vintages?” 

“There was a nearly empty bottle in your pantry. I didn’t see the need to open a new,” Ezio replied, struggling to keep his grin at bay as he waited for Leonardo to empty the small cup. 

And as soon as the clay vessel was lowered, a bead of red caught at the corner of the scruffy, blonde beard, he learned forward to slant their lips together, not caring the least about the sour, vinegary taste that lay above the natural flavour of sweat and skin and paint and soap. The kiss was, if possible, even more chaste this time, the lips against his frozen in shock. However, much to his delight, his attempt of pulling back had Leonardo follow part of the way, lips still immobile. 

Sitting back fully, his smile satisfied and hungry at once, Ezio watched the emotions play through those delightfully expressive eyes, before the front of his doublet was caught in a strong hand and he was yanked, roughly, into a proper snog. Tongue meeting his in a battle for dominance, teeth descending on his lower lip when he had to pull back for air, and that dominant hand pulling him back in for a second round. 

When they finally parted, both were out of breath, and Ezio was certain that his lips were just as reddened and kiss-swollen as Leonardo’s. They stared at each other, each man trying to find a path to go from there. The assassin’s fingers twitched when the artist’s eyes turned worried and sad for a moment, and he felt a desperate urge to push Leonardo down and kiss and lick and taste until that awful expression was forgotten and only cries of pleasure remained. 

“I hope that that, too, helped on the headache,” Ezio said with the most charming, wry grin he could manage, and dropped his voice to a seductive purr, “else I’m certain I could think of a few  _other_ ways to take your mind off it…” 

Leonardo gave him a soft, oddly tired smile, the unfaltering grip on the other’s doublet preventing Ezio from leaning in for another kiss. The assassin was proud enough to admit that he pouted then, and was relieved when Leonardo’s smile turned genuine and lost the shade of sorrow and worry. 

“As tempting as what you offer is,” Leonardo said, placing a finger on Ezio’s lips to silence the protest, “then not now. I’m still quite hungover, and I’d rather have a clear head for, ah, our ’sport’.” 

Ezio grinned ferally, mouth opening to suck on that finger, laving it suggestively with his tongue, teeth nipping every so gently at the sensitive skin, and felt a thrill run down his spine at how the artist’s eyes dilated in beautiful, naked  _lust_. “You are right, _caro mio_ ,” he breathed, letting the digit fall from his lips with a final kiss. “You should eat and drink first. Recover your strength for what I have in mind…” 

Leonardo nodded mutely, just the faintest tinge of red on his cheeks beneath the freckles, and Ezio rose to his feet, taking care to put an extra swing in his step as he sauntered out of the bedroom. Even seeing the cleared workshop did not cool the fire in his blood, and he was well aware that he was grinning like a hungry wolf as he puttered about the kitchen and tried to find something that could work as a meal for the two of them. 

It ended up being the rest of the bread, butter and olives, some of the hard cheese Leonardo favoured and Ezio detested, and a jar of the sugary, fruity preserves that they both enjoyed. The assassin did consider ramping up his already blatant seduction and serve the meal without a shirt - until he remembered that strangely forlorn look Leonardo had had, and realised that there were old ghosts that he had to vanquish before he could get the artist’s full attention. 

And so, when Leonardo joined him - newly washed, hair combed, and in fresh clothes and hat - the assassin was fully dressed and peacefully sitting at the table, pouring water for them both. The artist tsked and went to make tea, and soon boiled eggs and beans joined their meal as well. 

They ate mostly in silence, and at the way Leonardo was packing away the food, Ezio sorely suspected that he had come across his friend after yet another period of time where the artist simply forgot to eat. So, instead of bringing up any topics that could distract Leonardo’s appetite, he settled for watching with a small smile, piling more onto the plate whenever his artist was about to run out of food, picking delicately at his own until the table was close to cleaned. 

“So,” Leonardo began, leaning back in his seat and discreetly held up a napkin to hide his burp. 

“I can’t stay faithful,” Ezio said, having spent the meal thinking, and figured that that little step might as well be out in the open from the very beginning. He had tried, of course, but inevitably his attention would wander, no matter how much he cared about the other person, and while Ezio had the single minded determinedness of a ballistica bolt, he was also well aware that he had the willpower of a particularly wet sock when faced with willing flesh. 

The artist’s smile turned wry. “The day you stay faithful to someone, Ezio, is when you’re too old to climb about on rooftops,” he said. “Besides, I cannot well ask for something that I know I cannot offer in return.” 

The assassin raised a curious eyebrow at that. 

“I have the very finest young men that  _bella Italia_ has to offer come to my  _bottega_ to be sketched and painted,” Leonardo elaborated, the barest of a flush on his cheeks, although his smile was unashamed. “Most who insist that it is done with little or no clothes. Many who are young enough to be curious and quite, ah,  _lussuriosi_ , and value the flesh over the law. Honestly, you cannot possibly expect me to be able to stay loyal without giving up my art at the same time.” 

Ezio smirked. “ _Corrompere i giovani_ , are you? Leonardo, you sly dog! Makes me wish I had agreed when my mother asked if I could model for her pet painter, instead of bullying Federico into going instead…” He paused, something clicking in his head, remembering when his brother had returned from one such modelling session in a remarkably better mood than when he had left, and with several lovebites he had desperately tried to hide under his collar. At the time, Ezio merely had thought his brother had taken a detour home, as Ezio himself had done so often. “Leonardo… Did you and Federico..?” 

The artist did not reply, but his telltale blush and sudden refusal to meet Ezio’s eyes was plenty of answer on their own. 

“Well,” the assassin said after a moment to digest that new bit of information, and leaned over the table, hungry grin snapping back in place, “at least now I know you won’t be  _completely_ taken aback by the passion of an Auditore.” 

“There is… One more thing,” Leonardo said, fiddling with his cup, though his gaze was warm and determined. “This won’t be just once. I refuse to be merely another notch in your  _spalliera_.” 

“ _Va bene_. I had not planned on it being a one-time experience, either. That would not be fair to you or to me,” Ezio said with a nod, leaning his weight on his arms. “Any other conditions?” he asked, grin widening. “Any restrictions on the use of shackles? Toys? Molesting you in public?” 

That got a reaction, as Leonardo flinched; the old, raw terror that Ezio had glimpsed earlier returning in full.  “Nothing public. I… I would prefer if but the two of us know of it,” Leonardo said, that beautiful lust and need having been replaced entirely by worry and fear. 

Ezio quietly swore, but, at least he had found out where those ghosts lay. Now he just had to find out who had put that terror in his beautiful, friendly, all-around cheery friend, and figure out a particularly slow and painful way of killing them. “Leonardo..?” 

The artist took a steadying breath, eyes on the empty cup in his hands. “There were… people, in _Firenze_ , who learned of my preferences. There were many… accusations against me.” He paused and looked up, a weak but wry smile crossing his face. “Had you not killed Uberto Alberti when you had, he would most likely have ensured that my trial would be seen through, and that I would hang from the gallows.” 

The assassin felt his hand twitch, although the lack of its usual bracer - currently sitting on the side of the table along with most of his other weapons - meant that the hidden blade could not pop out of at the reflexive motion. “I understand,” he said, flexing his hand under the table, and forced himself to give Leonardo a comforting smile. “Still, if either of us should be caught, I’m certain that they would much prefer to charge you for housing, aiding, and equipping a known _assassino_ , rather than something as difficult to prove as sodomy.” 

Thankfully, Leonardo laughed at that. “Ezio,” he said, the smile almost reaching his eyes, “if I didn’t know better, I would think that you’re trying to talk me out of this!” 

“Well, there’s always the constant risk that I’ll bring an army of guards to your door; that someone may kidnap you and force you to make weapons for them; that I’ll bring home flesh-eating genitial parasites from one of the courtesans; or that you’ll simply end up tired of me barging through the window at all times of the day to raid your larder and drool all over your pillow,” Ezio cheerily replied, batting his eyelashes. “Really, Leonardo, there are several reasons as to why this would be a generally bad idea.” 

Leonardo’s long, talented fingers tapped out a melody on the cup, although the old fear on his face was rapidly fading, to be replaced with open amusement and laughter, and just a bit of that lovely naked lust. “And why, _amico mio_ , should we then do this?” he asked, head tilting slightly to the side, his grin playful. 

Ezio rose from his seat and moved to lean over Leonardo’s, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Because, I’m discreet,” he said, moving to brush his lips against a soft eyelid, “and because you’re so much more than a painter or engineer or brief fling to me,” shifting to the other eyelid, tongue briefly darting out to taste that taunting freckle there, “and because I’m willing to try, and to keep trying even when I run into problems I cannot easily solve.” Finally reaching those wonderful lips, whispering against them, “and because I have a simply massive _pene_ that I know well how to use.”

Leonardo seized him by the front of his doublet, pulling him in for a long, hard kiss. “Do not make promises you may not be able to keep, _caro mio_ ,” he growled, before that iron grip pulled them together again. 

“Who said anything about promises? I was merely stating facts,” Ezio replied with a smirk, his heart pounding for reasons entirely unrelated to the lack of air, and was hauled in for another rough kiss. “Now, if I was to make promises, it would be that neither of us will get any sleep until far past the sunrise.” A fourth kiss followed. “Or that I would ravish you until you’d be spoiled for any young model’s touch.” That earned him another kiss, this time with teeth and lips tugging at his lower lip until he moaned. “Or that,  _cazzo_ , Leonardo! Or that neither of us will be able to walk tomorrow!” 

“Good promises,” Leonardo panted, hands firmly grabbing Ezio’s arse and practically pulling the assassin into his lap. “I like those promises.” 

Ezio made a noise of approval, ground his hips  _forward_ and  _down_ and grinned into the kiss at how Leonardo groaned deeply, his grip trembling against the assassin. 

“Upstairs, Ezio,  _per favore_!” he gasped, fingers tangling in - but not pulling at - Ezio’s hair with said assassin leaned in to start kissing his way down a pale neck. 

“Mm.. Why? I quite like the thought of having you gasping and writhing on the kitchen floor,” Ezio replied, thoroughly distracted with pulling open the artist’s shirt and figuring out just how far down those lovely, lickable freckles went. 

“The bedroom is soundproofed.” 

The assassin  _did_ cease his ministrations at that, looking up - well aware by now that, if not for other reasons, his cheeks would hurt in the morning from his grins. “Leo _nar_ do!” he chuckled. 

Leonardo blushed scarlet, shoving at the other man hard enough that Ezio found himself on his feet instead of in Leonardo’s lap. “Not like  _that_! I just like to sleep regardless of the noise on the street! Or have you, perhaps, forgotten that there is a tavern just a stone’s throw from here?” 

“Save your excuses, Leonardo, and let us go take advantage of your soundproof bedroom,” the assassin grinned, grabbing one charcoal-stained hand in his and pulled the artist up as well. Feeling oddly giddy as he led the way through the dark workshop, Leonardo’s hand still in his. 

Hyper aware of everything - the heat from the other man; the smells of bread and oil and soap on them both. The lingering dust in the air; the smell of sleep when they entered the bedroom - and then Leonardo spun him around and slammed him against the now-closed door. 

Tongues and lips were quickly fully occupied with tasting each other again, and Ezio pulled at Leonardo’s shirt, trying to reveal more of that lovely skin to lick. The artist, however, gave up on trying to divert the assassin of the multitude of belts and buckles and overly ornate sashes that held his assassin’s robe in place - meant for an active lifestyle mostly involving laughing in the face of gravity and scampering up walls at a speed that could make a squirrel jealous - and instead tugged the cloth up to access the trousers beneath; dextrous hands making quick work of the knot and diving under the leather to stroke and caress. 

Ezio pulled back with a snarl of pleasure, biting the shoulder he had been laving attention on, before settling for gasping and panting as he could literally _feel_ Leonardo measure him. A small hum from the artist as those deviant hands stroked from root to tip, and then he leaned close, voice dropping a full octave as he all but breathed, “ _Voglio che mi scopi_.” 

It took a moment for those glorious words to filter through the assassin’s usually sharp mind, and then he pushed forward, walking Leonardo backwards until the back of the artist’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and, with a small squeak of surprise, he toppled backwards, dragging Ezio down with him. The assassin was quick to take advantage of the new position, pushing up on his hands to bestow kisses on his soon-to-be lover and firmly grind their hips together until Leonardo’s moans threatened to undo him. 

“Slick?” he panted, all too aware of how the artist’s hands were busy kneading fistfuls of his arse. 

“Drawer,” Leonardo ground out, teeth and lips mostly occupied with marking the other man’s neck. 

Both hissed at the loss of contact when Ezio pulled back entirely, moving to the side to rummage through the nightstand - though Leonardo was doing his to keep the assassin’s attention distracted by rolling over, biting and caressing his rear, and hands doing a fair attempt of divesting him entirely of his trousers. 

“Leonardo!” Ezio gasped, feeling a spit-slickened thumb skirt over his bottom, pressing against the puckered hole, and caused him to fumble, nearly dropping the small bottle. 

“ _Magnifico_ ,” the artist murmured, teeth lightly scraping against soft skin. “I long to sketch you like this - desperate and needy…” 

“Perhaps later,” Ezio groaned, pushing back willingly when that finger slipped in and pressed against the sensitive spot. “Enough! I wish to see you!”

Leonardo pulled back obediently at that, giving the assassin a much needed respite to recover his wits, and allowed them both time to undress. Ezio roughly yanked the robes over his own head once enough buckles had been loosened; emerging from the sea of white to find a gloriously aroused Leonardo laying his own, folded clothing over the back of the chair and mock-scowling when the assassin cheerfully kicked leggings and robe to the floor. 

“If anything, I’ll grow tired of you leaving dirty clothes everywhere,” the artist affectionately grumbled, willingly moving to kneel astride Ezio when the latter beckoned him. 

“I won’t complain about the sketches in the bedroom, if you don’t complain about the clothes on the floor,” the assassin chuckled, wrapping an oil-slick hand around Leonardo’s length. 

The artist groaned, hips shifting to slide through that loose grip, his bright eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. Intent on taking advantage of the other’s docileness, Ezio brought his other hand around, testing the entrance. Leonardo moaned, arching beautifully, legs spreading further to allow access, and the assassin could not help a groan of his own at the sight. 

“So greedy,” he breathed, pressing two fingers in, and felt rather than saw Leonardo’s fingers tighten in the sheets when he twisted them just so. “How many times have you touched yourself like this, imagining your fingers to be mine?” 

“ _Troppi_ ,” the artist gasped, hips stuttering as he tried to gain further friction. 

Ezio pulled back then, savouring that hungry, needy whine of protest, before rolling them both over. While it was a less intriguing position than before, he could move freely now, and seized the opportunity to continue his old mission of licking each freckle while his hands returned to their tasks of stroking and petting. Leonardo made the perfect noise, half breathing Ezio’s name; half a prayer; and half a sound of raw, primal hunger. Arching willingly into the assassin’s hands, body greedily accepting three fingers with little difficulty. 

“ _Bello_ ,” Ezio murmured against skin, and bent to taste the hard, weeping length in his hand. 

Leonardo screamed then, tossing his head back and clawed at the sheets; body arching, trying to gain more contact. The assassin found he had to use his free hand to pin the hips to the mattress, lest he ended up biting an area he had no plans for biting, but, in turn, could bop his head freely, fingers stroking in counter to every move. 

The artist was panting his name like a prayer, hands scrabbling for purchase when Ezio’s teeth gently teased the head; fisting in the sheets when he curled his fingers _just so_ ; and grasped at the dark hair when the assassin sank down fully, letting the muscles of his throat do the work until his vision swam black from the lack of air.  _This_ , he decided, was a far more pleasant way to cause a jaw ache than grinning like an idiot throughout the day, especially when his reward were those desperate, needy sounds. 

“Beautiful,” he panted, pulling back to catch his breath, and flared the four fingers he had fitted in, feeling the artist’s muscles tense at the sudden pressure; even as the artist pushed into the touch, desperate for more.

Ezio was only dimly aware that his hands were shaking as he reached for the bottle of oil to slick himself with; his mind far too occupied with the sight of Leonardo spread across the bed sheets, sweat-matted hair sticking to skin, steely grey eyes dilated to the point of near total black, skin flushed with arousal, and chest heaving for breath. 

“ _Magnifico_ ,” the assassin groaned, certain that he could be undone by that sight alone. 

“ _Ezio_!” Leonardo all but snarled, body twisting to let him spread his legs wider. “I swear, if you don’t fuck me right this instant, I’ll-” 

It was, Ezio decided, amazing how quickly the otherwise eloquent Leonardo could dissolve into nothing but moans and heady whimpers at the touch of a tongue on his cock. 

His lips kissed a quick path upwards through the trail of coarse, golden hair; up a finely toned stomach; crossed the chest where he could feel that fluttering heartbeat against his lips; and finally rejoined that lovely mouth - feeling Leonardo’s arms and legs embracing him even as their tongues stroked and and caressed. Their lengths met, and, for a brief while, Ezio could not muster the willpower to pull away, savouring the slide of flesh against flesh too much. 

“Take me,  _assassino_ ,” Leonardo growled, breaking their kiss in favour of biting Ezio’s neck. “Before I pin you down and  _make_ you.” 

“So impatient,” the assassin laughed, lavishing attention on one soft ear, enjoying the way he could cause soft gasps and moans against his skin. “You won’t let me make gentle, sweet love to you through the entire night?” 

“Right now, I am not in the mood for neither gentle nor sweet,” the other groaned, grabbing onto a rear toned by running from guards, archers, and just for the fun of it, pulling them together with more force, and nipped a path up the assassin’s throat. “Ezio, _please_...” 

That soft noise fully eroded any last shred of willpower, and Ezio was hardly aware of grabbing onto legs and shifting them both into position - only aware of the slide of flesh, of pressure growing around his cock, of trying,  _trying_ to be gentle, to push only when muscles around him relaxed and pause when they did not… Until Leonardo, frustrated with the slow pace, wrapped his legs around the assassin’s waist and  _pulled_. Ezio gasped for breath, the very air nearly knocked from his lungs at the sudden spike of heat and pressure and bliss around him. 

“ _Dio_ , you’re big,” Leonardo groaned against his neck, and the assassin felt the imprint of teeth against his skin. “ _Move_ , Ezio, before-” 

The younger man snapped his hips forward at that, and the artist’s next words were drowned in a groaned gargle of pleasure, his arms’ embrace tightening, and Ezio was quite aware that he would have a thoroughly well-chewed neck come morning. 

“You have no idea how good you look like this,” he moaned against one freckled ear, nipping at the lobe as his hips found a steady rhythm, feeling the artist’s gasps and groans against his skin at every dive forward. “Did you know, you were the one who drove me to such curiosity that I sleep with as many men as women these days?” 

“ _Parlare di meno_ ,” Leonardo panted, legs wrapping tighter around narrow hips, trying to urge the other into a quicker pace. “ _Scoparmi forte_!” 

Ezio pulled back, to Leonardo’s hissed protest and frantic grabbing, only to pull pale thighs over his shoulders, before plunging back in - and finding that he had a new hobby in discovering new ways to make his artist scream. Pushing forward, clawing for further purchase on the sheets as he drove deeper, faster, their rutting frantic and desperate. Pleasure building quickly; a coiling, thorny _want_ that left Ezio with little thought beyond the urge to draw more moans from his lover; to make the blunt, paint-stained nails dig into his shoulders as his partner struggled to get him  _deeper_ ,  _faster_ , and _harder, Ezio, please!_

Only too happy to oblige, he lifted up slightly, pushing the artist’s shoulders down with one hand, and reached between them. Leonardo gasped, eyes widening in shock, and then came apart, clenching gloriously around Ezio as he spilled between them. And the assassin found himself helpless to do any but follow - coming hard enough for it to be painful; momentarily blinded by the sheer bliss. 

Slowly coming to his senses, feeling gentle fingers lazily comb through his hair. He moaned softly, feeling warmth around his flaccid flesh, and mouthed against sweat-salted skin, feeling the pulse there slowly recovering from its erratic beat. 

“ _Buon compleanno_ ,” he murmured, unable to help his own, satisfied grin, and shifted just enough for them to slip apart, refusing to mourn the loss of the warmth around him. 

Leonardo made an unhappy, though still satisfied noise, not entirely unlike the giant cat for which he had been named. ”I do think it beats the time when my father gave me my first charcoals,” he replied dreamily, fingers returning to coming through the dark hair. 

“Good. Sleep now,” Ezio grumbled, and found himself shoved aside to lie beside Leonardo; though he was quick to wrap his arms around the other when the artist made to leave the bed, in a cuddle that threatened to turn violent if it was denied. 

“ _Ezio_..,” Leonardo said, sounding exasperated. 

“We can complain in the morning about not having cleaned up,” the assassin said, already half-asleep, and curled more firmly around his lover. "Sleep. Please?" 

Leonardo made a few, token protests more, but soon enough relented, and Ezio was only too happy to doze off with his ear pressed against a strong back, and the sound of a heartbeat lulling him to full sleep.

They coupled again at some point during the early morning. Ezio woke to curious. questing fingers trailing over the growing number of scars on his back; and he had pulled an apologetic but willing Leonardo on top of himself in return. Dry seed and old oil had presented an interesting counterpoint to the sensations of flesh against flesh, and, really, the assassin would have been embarrassed by how quickly he found his release, had his attention not fully been on stroking and petting and caressing until the other shuddered and added to the mess between them. 

Giddy and sated, Ezio reacted too slowly to prevent the artist from rolling out of the warm bed and retrieving a wet cloth to clean them both with - though he did manage to stave off sleep long enough to insist that Leonardo joined him again. Once again curled up around a warm body, sleep quickly reclaimed the assassin’s otherwise well-honed mind. 

When he woke again, the sun had risen, and Ezio was disappointed to find that the bed was empty. That the clothes over the back of the chair were missing. And, which caused his stomach to knot painfully over the simple domesticity, his clothes had been picked up from the floor and neatly folded, bracers and sword on top. A basin of water waited for him, clean cloth by its side, and he was certain that he could smell toasted bread wafting up from the downstairs workshop. 

It took him a short while - sitting at the edge of the bed, savouring the ache in his loins and the bruises on his neck, and trying not to grin like an idiot - to realise that he felt  _happy_. For the first time since Cristina had yelled at him and plainly told him that he had missed any chance he could have had with her, and that she never wished to see him again. A strange feeling, he concluded, when that memory was no longer accompanied by quite the same heartbreak as earlier. 

After washing and dressing - spending far too long, really, on tightening and adjusting the multitude of buckles in an unhurried way that he had not had the luxury of in several years - and strapping on the considerable arsenal of weapons he owned, the now fully-dressed assassin made his way downstairs. Leaving the bedroom where both of their barriers had been broken down, and left the two men with something…  _new_. Ezio was still unsure of what to call it, but, he knew, it was something he had every intention of holding onto, by any means available to him. 

Of course the workshop was still eerily clean. But Leonardo seemed to have had a flash of inspiration over the course of the night or morning, and Ezio was happy to see one only-just-begun painting; four sketches of birds and one of some kind of giant crossbow; one half-constructed model; three glass jars with unmentionable and possibly flammable liquids; and half a dozen screws and springs now decorated various surfaces around the workshop. Slowly, but steadily, Leonardo’s tendency to begin projects had started to turn the place into something that had a cozy familiarity to its chaos. 

And within the kitchen, Leonardo was puttering about in trousers and tunic, with only a pair of loose shoes protecting his feet from the cold stone floor. The table, cleared of what had remained of their dinner, had instead been laid out with breakfast, and warm tea steamed from the cups. 

“Good morning, _mio amore_ ,” Ezio said with a grin, leaning against the door frame. 

“Toast’s gone cold, sorry,” Leonardo said, gesturing momentarily with a skillet, and very nearly sent the sliced turnips within into the fire, although his smile was broad and happy and just a bit nervous, as if the assassin would up and vanish at any moment. 

“I think I’ll survive cold toast,” Ezio replied, walking over to give a kiss to his new lover, and found that, yes, he could most definitely get used to this kind of peaceful life.

**Author's Note:**

> Italian phrasebook, in order of appearance (but not reappearance). Please note that I don’t speak any notable Italian, so, it is likely filled with errors:
> 
> _Buon giorno_ \- Good day  
>  _Mio amico_ \- My friend  
>  _La mia casa è la tua_ \- Make yourself at home (Lit: My house is yours)  
>  _Mi dispiace_ \- My apologies  
>  _Solí_ \- Alone  
>  _In pace_ \- In peace  
>  _Cazzo di idiota_ \- Fucking idiot  
>  _Buon compleanno_ \- Happy birthday  
>  _Grazie_ \- Thank you  
>  _Ti amo_ \- I love you  
>  _La Rosa_ \- The Rose  
>  _Fratelli Auditore_ \- (the) Brothers Auditore  
>  _Il Assassino_ \- _The_ Assassin  
>  _Postumi di sbornia_ \- Hangover (lit: After-drinking effect)  
>  _Chiodo scaccia chiodo_ \- Hair of the dog (lit: Nail against nail)  
>  _Caro mio_ \- My dear  
>  _La bella Italia_ \- Beautiful Italy  
>  _Bottega_ \- Shop  
>  _Lussuriosi_ \- Lustful  
>  _Corrompere i giovani_ \- Corrupting the youth  
>  _Spalliera_ \- Headboard (of a bed)  
>  _Va bene_ \- That’s fine  
>  _Pene_ \- Penis  
>  _Per favore_ \- Please  
>  _Voglio che mi scopi_ \- I want you to fuck me  
>  _Magnifico_ \- Magnificent  
>  _Troppi_ \- Too many  
>  _Bello_ \- Beautiful  
>  _Parlare di meno_ \- Less talk  
>  _Scoparmi forte_ \- Fuck me harder  
>  _Mio amore_ \- My love


End file.
